autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.


A break with relatively recent established tradition as a marker in the field, combining image with story once again, but just the once. It feels like a guilty pleasure, but I’m ok with that. – ed.

Called Maris, of old
God of lush and thriving fields,
All things, together

Grown well, over time
A verdant moss that cushions
Soothing ancient wounds

Fitting nome de plume
The distant, humble farmer
Wiping sweat from brow

Spawn of Jupiter
The son outshines the father
The wheel, yet turning

Father of the tribe
The shape, the thing in itself
Seeds upon the wind

Sigil and symbol
Feet upon earth, hands touch sky,
Fair Albiorix

Eyes closed and smiling
The paradox of blind sight
Fount of deep wisdom

Organic melding
Bringing life from the ashes
Transitional ways

Meaning is where found
All signs, at core, are the same
They close the distance

I recognize you
That of you that is myself
And for it, I smile